FREQUENCIES OF VISIBLE LIGHT
By Moss o' Balloch the iris of the eye
takes in the frequencies of visible light
three bridges a river begins and ends with
is taken in by the invisible (particles
of luminous dials targets of living tissue)
not yet decontaminated
Below cylinders of barrage
a lattice of footbridge (deconstructed
in our common mouths
from ownership to specked mimic)
The talking broad as the flow of water
and wire and wall (iron-braced
to cage a secret so fast and brilliant
it would not fade in water or sunlight)
the fumes and knowledge of a secretive regime
a colour that subsumed all others
From chemical bonds
to whisky bonds
a trace absorbed by the spirit
a distillate evaporates into air
the angels' share
is brought to light
in a soot-black fungus encrusted
branches of buddleia silhouetted
against the spectrum of visible light
The river in its always present moment
pooling to a point smaller than a tarnished coin
(a bawbee for the Bawbee Brig)
a rainbow over a vale of tears
A fisherman in a froth of sun and shadow (mottled
belly of sea trout spring salmon
shoaling in the hidden pools) unspools
a kaleidoscope
of parrots and strutting peacocks
yellow-flowered (chromate of lead)
celandine and wood anemones
A high metallic span (enough to drop a body down
not fishing but fished from water)
rises up to a lattice of light
as if a boy bolted together Meccano a kit
fixed at the odd angles of its era
the tick-tock of the morning shift
crossing the river to make time
for General Time (not yet digital)
a clock for every home
A sight for sore eyes the play
of sun on water reflected waves
in their shades in the glare of summer
eyes only for light vertically polarized
In the air good vibrations
and a polaroid snap
of the latest glossy moment
the oh so instant
up-to-the-minute image
not yet tipping towards the digital
made a version of the present
gone the way the bleachfields went (soured in the sun's glare)
Construction Site Keep Out: this ground / that space in air
sold for development or
sold down the river gone south
or east with the patterned saris, bolts
of gorgeous cloth or simply gone
a glint of pebbles
ploughing south
into the wide lower reaches of the A82 a marsh
of pylons and butterflies bulrush and willow scrub
In a blue haze of scattering light
a sick king hunting for his own heart
startles from conjured grasses
a bird of paradise
the white-grey wings of the heron
the white-yellow wings of the butterflies
It begins and ends with bridges riff of water under arched stone
igneous closure
Time (no longer General)
slipping us down / river towards the virtual
shimmer of tides
the salmon will pour their silver streaming into
By Moss o' Balloch the iris of the eye
takes in the frequencies of visible light
three bridges a river begins and ends with
is taken in by the invisible (particles
of luminous dials targets of living tissue)
not yet decontaminated
Below cylinders of barrage
a lattice of footbridge (deconstructed
in our common mouths
from ownership to specked mimic)
The talking broad as the flow of water
and wire and wall (iron-braced
to cage a secret so fast and brilliant
it would not fade in water or sunlight)
the fumes and knowledge of a secretive regime
a colour that subsumed all others
From chemical bonds
to whisky bonds
a trace absorbed by the spirit
a distillate evaporates into air
the angels' share
is brought to light
in a soot-black fungus encrusted
branches of buddleia silhouetted
against the spectrum of visible light
The river in its always present moment
pooling to a point smaller than a tarnished coin
(a bawbee for the Bawbee Brig)
a rainbow over a vale of tears
A fisherman in a froth of sun and shadow (mottled
belly of sea trout spring salmon
shoaling in the hidden pools) unspools
a kaleidoscope
of parrots and strutting peacocks
yellow-flowered (chromate of lead)
celandine and wood anemones
A high metallic span (enough to drop a body down
not fishing but fished from water)
rises up to a lattice of light
as if a boy bolted together Meccano a kit
fixed at the odd angles of its era
the tick-tock of the morning shift
crossing the river to make time
for General Time (not yet digital)
a clock for every home
A sight for sore eyes the play
of sun on water reflected waves
in their shades in the glare of summer
eyes only for light vertically polarized
In the air good vibrations
and a polaroid snap
of the latest glossy moment
the oh so instant
up-to-the-minute image
not yet tipping towards the digital
made a version of the present
gone the way the bleachfields went (soured in the sun's glare)
Construction Site Keep Out: this ground / that space in air
sold for development or
sold down the river gone south
or east with the patterned saris, bolts
of gorgeous cloth or simply gone
a glint of pebbles
ploughing south
into the wide lower reaches of the A82 a marsh
of pylons and butterflies bulrush and willow scrub
In a blue haze of scattering light
a sick king hunting for his own heart
startles from conjured grasses
a bird of paradise
the white-grey wings of the heron
the white-yellow wings of the butterflies
It begins and ends with bridges riff of water under arched stone
igneous closure
Time (no longer General)
slipping us down / river towards the virtual
shimmer of tides
the salmon will pour their silver streaming into